


Tumbled - Merrill

by KyeShgall



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyeShgall/pseuds/KyeShgall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An archive of my Tumblr ficlets involving Merrill ships - mainly F!Hawke/Merrill, with some others as noted. Mostly rated mature - at the moment, explicitness is only available in the Isabela/Merrill chapter. I'll be adding chapters little by little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Underwater Kiss - FHawke/Merrill

Merrill described the destination only as “a nice place to swim.” But when she turned off the main path onto a rabbit trail that wound its way through the tall grass and underbrush, Hawke began to wonder.

"Are you sure you’re not tricking me? Luring me off the road for some nerfarious purpose?" Hawke asked.

Merrill laughed. “Of course I am. I’m full of nefarious purposes. But, I promise, there really is a swimming hole around here somewhere.” 

"You mean you’re not sure where?" Hawke asked.

Merrill laughed again, her only answer, and continued into the thicket. Hawke had no choice but to shut up and keep up. Because Merrill moved quickly, shimmying past brambles and hopping daintily over fallen logs. A few minutes later she rounded a bend in the trail and pushed aside thick foliage to reveal a hidden gully. 

"Oof," Hawke said as a switch-like branch swung backwards and hit her in the belly. But then, peering over the top of Merrill’s head, she could see a little waterfall and a clear pool beneath it. 

~

The water was deep and cool on their skin, a pleasant change from the hot walk away from Kirkwall under midday sun. Hawke admitted the surprise had been a good one. And then she commenced with the splashing and wrestling, which was little more than an excuse to pull Merrill close, until they were holding each other, bare skin against bare skin, with the waterfall behind them. 

Merrill smiled and looked away from Hawke towards the bright cascading water. “That waterfall reminds me,” she said. “What do you know of merfolk, Hawke?”

"Merfolk?" Hawke asked, the expression on her face slightly puzzled, but completely charmed by the mysterious segue. “Torsos like humans, tails like fish?"

"Mmm," Merrill said. “Varric was telling a story about merfolk. Did you know that they don’t wear clothing? They like to swim bare-chested. Even the ones with very large breasts."

"Oh really?" Hawke said, feigning surprise. “Bare-chests and naked breasts in one of Varric’s stories?"

"Yes," said Merrill. “And did you know that if one of the merfolk fancies a human and they kiss underwater, the human will sprout gills and a tail and become just like one of the merfolk?"

"Varric said that, did he?"

"Not that part, no. I made it up myself, just now, to seduce you." 

"Ahh," Hawke said with a chuckle. “I think I’m starting to catch on. So, which one of us gets to be the mermaid?"


	2. Oblivious - FHawke/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a side of Varric/Isabela because around here all the Varric ships are yes.

Varric took one good look at Hawke and Merrill and then swiftly chose a different table. He was clever enough to know when those two were in need of a good story to cheer them up and when they simply wanted some time hunched over a table together, oblivious to the comings and goings of the tavern in which they sat.

“Whispering sweet nothings, you think?” he asked the Rivaini, with a quick gesture in Hawke and Merrill’s direction, as he eased himself onto a chair beside her.

“Always, with those two.” Isabela rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I think they’re cute.”

“And oblivious,” Varric said. “Which one do you think will kiss the other one first? My bet’s on Hawke.”

“I doubt that,” Isabela said with a shake of her curls. “Hawke’s too patient - and boring - for her own good. Merrill’s got spirit.”

“Literally,” Varric added with chuckle.

Isabela laughed. “I set you up for that one.”

“And I always appreciate it.”

“Does that mean you’ll reconsider going to bed with me?” Isabela sized him up with a suggestive leer.

“Don’t push it, Rivaini. Bianca’s right here.”

“I’m always open for a threesome,” she said, “provided you’re… up for it.”

“Ugh, Rivaini,” he said, “that was painful.” And yet the amused look he gave her was filled with kindness. 

She was about to slap him with an even worse pun when he distracted her by squeezing her hand. Her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise as Varric said, “Come on.”

Nodding in the direction of his suite, he added, “Before Bianca changes her mind.”


	3. Envy - FHawke/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written regarding a comment from Anders that bothered me and stuck with me.

Hawke and Merrill sit together amidst the flickering lamps of Hawke's library. The scent of leather-bound tomes offers Hawke quiet comfort, reminding her of Malcolm, who never saw a book he couldn't use.

She and Merrill cast loving glances at each other as they talk. And yet, their night isn't without its troubles. Anders' words skulk around the edge of their conversation like a stray cat that's been chased away too many times to trust that people can also be kind.

“ _She acts sweet, but she'll never pick you over her demon.”_

These are not words to take at face value. Neither Merrill nor Hawke have ever been as transparent – or as naïve – as they might seem. And they've had this talk before:

“What happens if you're hurt? If you're desperate? If you're left broken and abused and the only thing for it is to turn to your demon? That it may call in its favors, fulfill all its bargains, work its revenge through you...”

“On that day, I'm lost. And you should kill me.” Whenever she speaks of it, she is certain, without fear. And the look in her eyes is untroubled. Merrill knows the score.

These are things that Anders does not see. And while his words might seem like petty envy, both Hawke and Merrill know the difference between yesterday's conversation with him and the off-handed remarks he's made before.

“I'm worried for him, ma vhenan.”

“So am I,” Hawke admits. “Day by day I see less of the human in him and more of the Fade. But Anders is strong.”

“Yes,” Merrill says, “and so are spirits.”

She knows this all too well.


	4. Thorns - FHawke/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's not sure how to handle the eluvian situation. Angst.

Hawke stood by her bedroom window, breathing the herb-scented steam that rose from her mug of tea. A fine, misty rain had settled over Kirkwall and the draft from her windows was cool on the backs of her hands. She made a mental note to ask Bodahn to check all the windows and seal them, where needed.

Merrill was out for the morning, cloaked against the chill and damp, a point on which Hawke had insisted.

“We don’t need the both of us feeling under the weather.”

“I’ll be fine,” Merrill countered, but she wrapped herself in the cloak nonetheless, smiling at Hawke with a look of annoyance and love. “You’re good to me.”

“We’re good to each other,” Hawke reminded. “Say hello to ‘Bela for me.”

Because that was official plan: shopping for trinkets at the Lowtown market with Isabela. Hawke suspected a visit to Merrill’s old home in the alienage was wrapped up somewhere in the morning itinerary.

While Merrill’s single-minded focus on the eluvian worried her, Hawke, of all people, knew well enough that sometimes the right course of action was worrisome to friends and loved ones.

The Dalish – perhaps all elves – deserved more of their history than what little they’d saved against the ravages of time and atrocity. Who was Hawke, or any human for that matter, to bar the way against one who sought restoration?

Hawke took a sip of the bitter tea that was supposed to be good for her headache. It smelled of roses, but tasted like something spindly and unpleasant that grew by the wayside.

These headaches were new. Something always was.


	5. Video Games - FHawke/Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU in which Eva Hawke and Merrill play Skyrim.

Merrill’s eyes widened in fear. “Here,” she said, thrusting the XBox controller into Eva Hawke’s hands, “you take it.”

"Merrill," Hawke laughed, taking hold of the controller and beginning to shuffle through menus. "I can’t kill all your demons for you."

"No," Merrill agreed, "but maybe just the very large ones?" She pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders and reached for the bowl of popcorn.

"You’re better at this game than you think. You really don’t need my help." But Hawke’s attention never strayed from the TV screen. She equipped a pair of spells, deployed them both, then faded into the shadows of the crypt while her conjured dremora lord made short work of a draugr before moving on to attack a pair of storm atronachs. All the while, Hawke’s conjured flame atronach skated around the edge of the battle, hurling fireballs into the fray.

As the last atronach fell, Hawke returned the controller to Merrill. “There. All safe now.”

"Oh, ma vhenan, thank you!"

Eva chuckled as she snagged a handful from the popcorn bowl. “Don’t thank me. Thank your sweet bosmer mage and her remarkable aptitude for conjuring even more horrific demons than the ones in this barrow.” She crunched on popcorn, watching as Merrill proceeded to loot the chamber.


	6. Firefly, Jellyfish, Butterflies - Merrill/Isabela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three little ficlets for Merrill/Isabela.

**1\. Firefly**

One of her knees sank deep into the loamy earth while the other pressed hard against the paving stones of the garden path. Despite the discomfort, Isabela continued, undaunted. This adventurous evening in the magistrate’s garden had been Merrill’s idea. After all, if Varric was already bribing the guards to look the other way, why not make the most of it? 

And that’s exactly what they were doing. While Isabela knelt low, Merrill lay back in the cool earth with legs parted and hips angled upwards. She’d lost her leggings somewhere along the way and now she was bare and slick, deliciously so. Isabela still kissed her gently, teasing with lips, gentle teeth, and the occasional soft hum of laughter. 

Experience and patience were different things entirely, and Isabela could not hold back much longer. She opened her mouth to give full, sucking kisses, wetting her face as she tasted and breathed deep the familiar scent of Merrill. She was about to add a pair of fingers when Merrill’s startled cry of “Isabela, stop!” caused her to freeze and pull back.

"What’s wrong," she began. "Did I-"

But before she could finish her sentence, Merrill said, “Look!” and held out her arm for Isabela to see…

Nothing at all.

"I don’t-" she said.

And then Merrill’s arm blinked. 

"There!" Merrill said. "Did you see it!"

Isabela shifted her knees and sat back, laughing softly all the while. “Only you would have me stop doing this…” She gave a playful pat to the damp curls between her lover’s legs. “…for a firefly.”

Merrill pulled herself up to a sitting position, taking care not to jostle the small, clinging bug. “Do you know why they blink?” she asked.

"Let me guess," said Isabela. "Are they… dueling?"

"No. They’re looking for love," Merrill said. "Like us, I suppose." She looked up at Isabela with a hopeful smile.

A year or two ago, she might have said something cruel and pushed Merrill away. But tonight she only smiled and whispered, “Better to be found by a firefly than the magistrate’s guards.”

And they sat together quietly until the bug flew off. After all, there was truth in what Merrill noted later: “Lovemaking is rarely improved by squishing a firefly.”

**2\. Jellyfish**

Merrill stretched her legs and rolled her ankles. She always found it nice to relax in Isabela’s bed at the Hanged Man. The bed smelled sweet and lovely, even if the rest of the room sometimes reeked of spoiled beer. But this was no time for drifting off to sleep. She nudged Isabela with an elbow to the ribs, causing the pirate to groan. 

"Haven’t I practiced enough?" said Isabela.

"Jellyfish," said Merrill.

"Oh, all right," Isabela said. "One day I was sailing on my ship. And I looked over the ship’s rail and there in the water was an enormous jellyfish."

"That’s a good start," Merrill said.

"Thanks," said Isabela with a playful wink. "Now where was I?"

"Enormous jellyfish."

"Right. There in the water was an enormous jellyfish. But when I blinked and looked again, the jellyfish was gone."

"Where did it go?" Merrill asked.

"It just disappeared."

"Oh," said Merrill. "But it did come back, didn’t it?"

"Yes, three days later, I saw it again. And it was even larger than the first time I saw it. Also, it was glowing."

"Did it grab your ship in its tentacles and drag you down to the bottom of the sea?"

"Er, no," said Isabela.

"That’s probably what it would have done in Varric’s story."

"Well, kitten, this isn’t Varric’s story. In my story the jellyfish is actually a beautiful man trapped by an evil mage. And I have to go on a grand adventure to destroy the mage and restore the jellyfish to his true form."

"Does it end with lovemaking?" Merrill asked.

"Kitten, all my stories end with lovemaking. Haven’t you figured that out by now?"

"Yes," Merrill said. "But Aveline is one of the judges. Perhaps a few of your tall tales should end with undersea battles instead."

"You’re right," Isabela said. "I’ll have to pander to the judges if I want to beat Varric at a bullshit competition."

"You will," said Merrill. She wiggled her toes, looked up at the ceiling, and added, "But maybe tonight can end with lovemaking."

Isabela simply chuckled and pulled Merrill in for a kiss. 

**3\. Butterflies**

To passers-by they must look a mess: two old women covered in mud and lounging in rickety chairs as they survey the plot of earth they’ve just planted. But to each other’s eyes, the mess doesn’t matter much. 

"Do you love me?" Merrill asks, though she already knows the answer. She reaches with a wrinkled hand to caress the cheek of her favorite captain in all the lands and all the seas.

"I always will, sweet thing," says Isabela and she playfully flicks at the gold hoop that has graced Merrill’s ear since they fled from Kirkwall long years ago.

Merrill smiles and looks at her hands, wiry and strong despite their age. Between her fingers, the mud fades and cracks as it dries. “Will you miss the sea?” Merrill asks.

"It’s right over there," Isabela says and points past the road and through the trees, where the glint of sunlight on water is visible when the wind shifts now and then. "How can I possibly miss what’s just past our doorstep?"

"We’ve drifted for so long," says Merrill. "Are you sure you’ll be happy staying put?"

Isabela looks from Merrill to the garden and back again. With a rueful smile that deepens her wrinkles, she says, “Considering how planting a row of seedlings tires me out, you can bet your sweet ass I’m ready to leave drifting to the butterflies.” She winks and then lifts her chin, signalling where Merrill should look. There, just beyond the farthest row of peas, a pair of blue butterflies circles, tossed by the gentlest breeze.

Delighted by the sight of them, Merrill claps her hands and chortles with glee.


	7. Eyelid Kiss - Merrill/MHawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is hurting, Merrill comforts.

Hawke paces from his bedroom door to the window. He peers out through the curtains to the pavement of the Hightown square, slick with rain. The whole city is drab beneath the shroud of gray clouds. And he feels like a man in mourning. 

Correction, he is a man in mourning. Leandra’s death is more than the loss of a mother. It is scar tissue reopened on all the old wounds: Father, Bethany, Carver.

He can’t stay in the mansion any longer. It’s too much constraint, too much warmth and finery. And what he needs now is the relief that only the stinging cold of the rain can bring him. If it freezes him, if it hurts him enough, surely it will numb the ache inside.

He launches himself down the grand staircase, past the fireplace and the foyer, and out the front door. He has no destination, he’s simply determined to walk. Perhaps he will find his way home by morning. Or perhaps he will be caught without armor or weapons, a pitiful target for thugs in the night. 

Guided by some inner compass, he makes his way to Lowtown. Moving without thinking, he passes by the empty market stalls. Above the tavern, the grim figure of the hanged man creaks as it sways in the wind. Hawke continues past. His slippers are soaking wet and they squish with every step he takes. 

As he crosses the hex that houses Gamlen’s wretched abode, Hawke understands at last where his unconscious thoughts were guiding him. He descends the stairs to the alienage. At Merrill’s door he stops and simply stares at the crude grain of the wood, dripping with rainwater. He raises his fist, knuckles first, but instead of knocking he pulls his hand away. 

Her list of burdens is long enough already, without him adding any of his. He turns on one squishy-heeled slipper and starts to walk away. A familiar voice calls him back.

"Hawke? Is that you?"

Hawke turns, surprised by the voice that comes from the vhenadahl tree.

"Merrill?" he says.

With the spark of her magic, she lights a lantern beside her. And now Hawke can see. She’s sitting on a wool blanket near the trunk of the tree and she’s sheltered from the rain by its broad, thick canopy.

"Come sit," she says. 

Hawke obeys. He hadn’t realized until this moment, but it’s the sort of command he’d been hoping for. 

He crosses through puddles until he reaches the plot of dry ground. Stepping out his slippers and shrugging off his dripping wet robe, Hawke takes a seat on the blanket beside her. The cuffs of his trousers are soaking, but his seat is still dry thanks to the length of his robe and its protective effect.

Merrill leans close to him and whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.”

"Me too," he says and he reaches for her hand. She offers it freely and he finds it surprisingly warm and dry, far more pleasant to the touch than his own hand, cold and clammy. 

She squeezes his hand nonetheless. “You know,” she says, “if you close your eyes and listen, it sounds almost like a night in the forest.”

"Is that why you’re out here?"

"No," she says. "I’m out here because my bedroom’s flooded."

"Merrill, that’s awful!" 

"It should be dry tomorrow… if the rain stops."

Hawke is silent. He wants to speak, but he doesn’t trust himself with words. And soon the quiet between them seems to swell into a terrible thing with teeth that gnaw at his insides. He berates himself. If he were a braver man and less stupid, he would ask her to come back with him, to live with him and to love him, to make his awful Hightown mansion into a home again. Since Leandra’s death it’s felt empty, a cloying status symbol that torments him.

He shuts his eyes and grimaces, straining to silence the inner voice that taunts him so cruelly with reminders of his grief and failure. 

Merrill watches him with shining eyes and a mind that recognizes sorrow all too quickly. 

"Relax, Hawke," she says. "Relax your face. And keep your eyes shut."

He does as he’s told.

"Good, now take a deep breath in and deep breath out."

"Now what?" he asks.

"Focus on breathing," she says. "And think about… well, I think about the forest. And the wind. And the sails of aravels. But you should think about something you love. Something that makes you feel safe and happy."

"In that case, I’ll think about you," Hawke whispers.

And before he can react or even know what’s happening, her hands have slipped behind his ears and she’s pulling his head towards her.

He feels the warmth of her breath on his face as she plants a soft kiss in the strangest of places - once on each eyelid. And he wonders if there’s some Dalish story to make sense of it. But if there is, it doesn’t matter, because she curls up against him and all is forgotten except the wiry strength of her body.

"This makes me happy," she whispers. 

And for the rest of the night he sits with her and holds her, their backs against the vhenadahl, sheltered together from storm and sorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to comment - supportive, critical, or to point out problematic elements in my writing that I may need to consider and change. Thanks!


End file.
